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Bless me Father.

“Three full Rosaries? You’re asking me to say three full Rosaries and yet yer man before me only gets a Glory Be, an Our Father, and a Hail Mary! After what he did!! You cannot be serious!”

But he was serious.

Today is known as Ash Wednesday in the Catholic religion. I’m sure you have heard something of it. I won’t go into the whole meaning, for two reasons: Firstly I don’t know the whole meaning, and Secondly I didn’t get my ashes today. I was “too busy.” So it would be a bit rich if I were to start a full scale lecture on it.

Of course my wife and kids recieved their ashes. In fact, I could right this moment ask any one of them about the meaning, and they would be able to give me the complete story. But I won’t because dads know it all, everything! It would be a sign of less than perfection. No need to rock the boat. “Steady as she goes, Captain.”

It is the norm in our faith to attend confessions at regular intervals throughout the year. It’s particularly common to have your confession heard in the lead up to an important Holy day, for instance, Ash Wednesday, or Easter Sunday, or Christmas day. You get the gist. The idea is that it wipes the slate clean before you recieve an important Sacrament. It have to admit, in most cases my conscience felt a lot lighter after a visit. It’s a strange one.

But the truth, and I’ll have to whisper in case the kids hear, is that I haven’t been to confession in about three years. Just plain old laziness. I’ll burn in Hell yet.

Speaking of whispers, there is one occasion which stands out in my memory. I was visiting the relations on my father’s side. He is originally from County Mayo. The county famous for the Apparition at Knock, a small village, in 1879. Our Lady, Saint Joseph, Saint John appeared along with an Altar on top of which stood the Lamb, and there was a large Crucifix behind the Altar. None of them made a sound but the apparition lasted an hour or two. Fifteen people of all ages witnessed it. You can find out more on the WWW-dot if you’re interested.

Whether or not their surroundings had any influence, my father’s family were, and still are, devout Catholics. Everything was done by the book. So on the visit in question I tagged along to the local Church for confessions. When in Rome..

“..and maybe we’ll do the stations of the cross while we’re there,” announced my wife. Oh she is good!

When we arrived there wasn’t much of a queue, thanks be to God. And it seemed like no time at all until I had shuffled along the seat to be in the next up position.

I felt nervous. Not because I had murdered anyone. But because I knew that my devout relations would hear every sin I told, thanks to Father Echo, behind the curtain. Each faux pas that the sinner was mumbling, was being repeated at full volume by the priest, who sounded old and deaf. But his vocal chords were in mint condition.

“AND YOU HAD SEX WITH HER!”

“mumble mumble mumble.”

“AND YOU HAVE NO INTENTION OF MARRYING HER!”

“mumble mumble mumble”

“I TRUST YOU WILL FIND HER AND APOLOGISE! FOR YOUR PENANCE SAY ONE OUR FATHER, ONE HAIL….” he went on to absolve the poor lad of his sins.

I was next. I hadn’t counted on this scenario. So I played it cool.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been a while since my last confession…”

“HOW LONG IS A WHILE?” he interrupted.

“Oh about five years, I can’t remember.”

“FIVE YEARS! FIVE YEARS SINCE YOUR LAST CONFESSION!”

Damn! By now the whole of County Mayo has heard my business thanks to Father Megaphone! All my wife’s good work, down the drain. I had to think quick. I couldn’t list all the real sins I had committed. I would be excommunicated, and worse, embarrassed.

“Oh I wished bad luck to a few people here and there, Father. You know, the usual thing when someone gets on your nerves.”

“YOU WHAT? THAT’S THE WORST TYPE OF SIN.”

And he left it at that. So now the folks outside think I am the Devil incarnate. Oh my God, tell me this isn’t happening. But it was, it was happening. He started shouting absolution prayers at the top of his lungs. I had lost the will to kneel. I slunk back into a corner of the cubicle. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I mumbled.

“..AND SAY THREE ROSARIES FOR FORGIVENESS….”

There it was, the final nail! My reputation was in tatters. That’s pretty much all I remember. The rest of the day was a blur.

Poor Frankie! Were you written out of the family Bible then? Haha.
Well there is a huge Catholic population here in Louisiana, but on the other side of that is the Southern Baptist Convention, my own cross to bear growing up. Of course all my friends were Catholic, as was the object of my desires at that time. So I spent enough time in Mass to be considered an honorary parishioner, if only in my mind. I knew the entire process and even once forgot myself, getting on in line to take the holy communion. Yikes! And me, not even confirmed. :0! I am happy to report that I have a terrific relationship with my maker now that I don’t envision God as angry, following me around with lightening bolts. Yep, that’s the Baptist way.

Aye, it’s swings and roundabouts really. The Catholic faith isn’t as bad as some make it out to be. It’s how we treat each other that counts. Sounds like you have a great mix in your area. Healthy. 🙂
Thank you Cheryl.
Ps..well done on your project so far.

Thanks for making me laugh. I have a friend (name of Costello) who took his first communion in a church in LA called St. Joseph the Worker. Maybe you should try that one. In a church of that name, the priest would have to expect the parishioners to be hard-working, busy people, probably a requirement.

haha! SOmetimes I wish we could just past the priest a chit with all our sins on it. He could then read it, and stamp it ‘ABSOLVED’ and pass it back to us to burn. And we’d say our penance as it burns. Maybe even do a jig around the bonfire, conscience being lighter and all. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Maybe I should have a little chat with the pope about this.